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LIBRARY OF GONGRESS, 

Cliap.L„--. Copyright No. 

l<&73 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



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Gems from an Old Scrap Book. 



A Holiday Offering. 




4 ' Unconsidered Trifles ' ' 



PHILADELPHIA: 

C. A. MECASKEY & CO, 

No. 908 Chestnut Street. 
1873. 



ONGS ftDRIFT 



OR, 



GEMS FROM Ai\ T OLD SCRAP BOOK 



& HOLIDAY QFratOm. 

A 







JJnconsidered Trifles. 



Tui/J*™. 



' I 



PHILADELPHIA: 

C. A. MECASKEY & CO 
Xo. 908 Chestnut Street. 
18 7 3. 



/ 






COMPLIMENTS OF 

C. A. MECASKEY & CO 

908 Chestnut Street, 

PHILADELPHIA, 



SONGS ADRIFT." 



»4^c 



It is surprising how many really good and stirring poems go float- 
ing up and down the currents of the great sea of literature, with never 
an author to claim them, and never a publisher to gather them into a 
volume. They take their start in a corner of a weekly paper, or deep 
in the recesses of a magazine, are scissored from one paper to another, 
and at last find quiet resting places in somebody's scrap-book. They 
are usually the one or two heart-stirring songs of a poet who is never 
able to match them afterwards, and who, in despair, abandons them to 
their fate ; but sometimes they are the isolated ones which the world se- 
lects to remember, while the volume containing their duller companions 
slumbers unread on a forgotten shelf; and sometimes they are the only 
songs which some master-mind of prose has permitted itself to sing; 
but in any case, they have no home, no associations, no harbor of 
refuge— literary waifs on a sea which has shipwrecked their companions 
by thousands, they belong to the finder; and even the king can scarcely 
hope to apply to them the law of flotsam and jetsam. 



SONGS ADRIFT. 



Mainly of this sort are the scraps collected in this little volume. 
A few of them are by well-known authors, a few more by rising ones, 
but the majority are to be credited to that convenient authority, "Mr. 
Anonymous." So far as we know, none of them— or but one or two, at 
most— are contained in a published edition of their author's works ; 
and as we could name the writers of so few, we have deemed it best to 
withhold the author's name, even where it was known. 

The Poems are from a scrap-book, and are given here as they stood 
there, without order or arrangement, but just as the periodical currents 
drifted them in. Like the emotions they express, they will be found 
to relate to almost every phase of life and life's experience. Somebody 
will be grateful for each one of them; and to that somebody the one 
he or she likes best— and to all our friends the volume in general— is 
respectfully dedicated by 

Their Obedient Servants, 

C. A. M. & Co. 




mz %v$4 '%&c\ 



H ! a wonderful stream is the river of Time. 
As it runs through the realms of tears, 
With a faultless rhythm and a musical rhyme, 
And a broader sweep, and a surge sublime, 
And blends with the ocean of years. 

How the winters are drifting like flakes of snow, 
And the summers like buds betweeu, 

And the year in the sheaf— so they come and they go, 
On the river's breast, with its ebb and flow, 
As it glides in the shadow and sheen. 



There's a magical isle up the river of Time, 

Where the softest of airs are playing; 
There's a cloudless sky and a tropical clime, 
And a song as sweet as a vesper chime, 

And the Junes with the roses are straying. 



And the name of this isle is the Long Ago, 

And we bury our treasures there ; 
There are brows of beauty and bosoms of snow, 
There are heaps of dust, but we loved them so ! 
There arc trinkets and tresses of hair. 



SONGS ADRIFT. 



There are fragments of song that nobody sings, 

And a part of an infant's prayer; 
There's a lute unswept, and a harp without strings, 
There are broken vows and pieces of rings, 

And the garments that she used to wear. 

There are hands that are waved when the fairy shore 

By the mirage is lifted in air ; 
And we sometimes hear, through the turbulent roar, 
Sweet voices We heard in the days gone before, 

When the wind down the river is fair. 

Oh ! remembered for aye be that blessed isle, 

All the days of life until night, 
When the evening comes with its beautiful smile, 
And our eyes are closing in slumber awhile. 

May that "Greenwood" of soul be in sight. 



On tf)e' jBanks of tlje jBeaatifid T\iver . 
■S 

IKE a foundling in slumber the summer-day lay, 

On the crimsoning threshold of Even, 
And I thought that the glow from the "azure-arched'' 
way, 
Was a glimpse of the coming of heaven. 
There together we sat by the beautiful stream"; 
We had nothing to do but to love and to dream 

In the days that have gone on before. 
These are not the same days, though they bear the 
same name 
With the ones I shall welcome no more! 




But it may be the angels are calling them o'er, 

For a Sabbath and summer forever, 
When the years shall forget the Decembers they wore, 

And the shroud shall be woven, no, never! 
In a twilight like that, Jenny June for a bride, 
Oh, what more of the world could one wish for beside? 

As we gazed on the river enrolled, 
Till we heard, or we fancied, its musical tide, 

As it flowed through the gate-way of gold. 



2* 



SONGS ADRIFT 



"Jenny June," then I said, "let as linger no more 

On the banks of the beautiful river ; 
Let the boat be unmoored, and be muffled the oar, 

And we'll steal into Heaven together. 
If the angel on duty our coming descries, 
You have nothing to do but throw off the disguise 

That you wore when you wandered with me, 
And the sentry shall say, ' Welcome back to the skies, 
We have long been a-waiting for thee.' " 

Oh, how sweetly she spoke ere she uttered a word, 

With that blush partly hers, partly Even's ; 
And that tone like the dream of a song we once heard, 

As she whispered, "that way is not Heaven's; 
For the river that runs by the realms of the blest 
Has no song in its ripple, no star on its breast — 

Oh, that river is nothing like this ! 
For it glides on in shadow, beyond the world's west, 

Till it breaks into beauty and bliss ! " 

I am lingering yet, but I linger alone, 

On the banks of the beautiful river ; 
'Tis the twin of that day, but the wave where it shone, 

Bears the willow-tree's shadow forever ! 



SONGS ADRIFT 




mjs <us -cg-xox 



HERE the rocks are gray and the shore is steep, 
And the waters below look dark and deep, 
Where the rugged pine in its gloomy pride 
Leans gloomily over the murky tide, 
Where the reeds and the rushes are tall and 

rank, 
And the weeds grow thick on the winding 

bank, 
Where the shadow is heavy the whole day 

through, 
Lies at its moorings the old canoe. 



The useless paddles are idly dropped, 

Like a sea bird's wings that the storm hath lopped, 

And crossed on the railing one o'er one, 

Like folded hands when the work is done ; 

While busily back and forth between 

The spider stretches his silvery screen, 

And the solemn owl, with his dull " too-hoo," 

Nestles down on the side of the old canoe. 



SONGS ADRIFT 



The stern half sunk in the slimy wave, 

Rots slowly away in its living grave, 

And the green moss creeps o'er its dull decay, 

Hiding the mouldering dust away, 

Like the hand that plants o'er the tomb a flower, 

Or the ivy that mantles a fallen tower ; 

While many a blossom of liveliest hue 

Springs up o'er the stern of the old canoe. 

The currentless waters are dead and still ; 
But the light winds play with the boat at will, 
And lazily in and out again, 
It floats the length of its rusty chain, 
Like the weary march of the hands of time, 
That meet and part at the noontide chime ; 
And the shore is kissed at each turn anew 
By the dripping bow of the old canoe. 

Oh, many a time with a careless hand 
I have pushed it away from the pebbly strand, 
And paddled it down where the stream ran quick — 
Where the whirls were wild and the foam was thick 
And laughed as I leaned o'er the rocking side, 
And looked below in the broken tide, 
To see that the faces and boats were two, 
That were mirrored back from the old canoe. 



SONGS ADRIFT 



But now, as I lean o'er the crumbling side, 

And look below in the sluggish tide, 

The face that I see is graver grown, 

And the laugh that I hear has a sober tone, 

And the hands that lent to the light skiff wings 

Have grown familiar with sterner things ; 

But I love to think of the hours that flew 

As I rocked where the whirls their wild spray thre\ 

Ere the blossoms waved or the green grass grew 

O'er the mouldering stern of the old canoe. 




SONGS ADRIFT 



miE :biVJE ^^ r fD TJd'E <H{JY 




the flow of the inland river, 

Whence the fleets of iron have fled, 
Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver, 
Asleep are the ranks of the dead : 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment-day ; 
Under the one, the Blue ; 

Under the other, the Gray. 



These in the robings of glory, 

Those in the gloom of defeat, 
All with the battle-blood gory, 
In the dusk of eternity meet : 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment-day ; 
Under the laurel, the Blue ; 
Under the willow, the Gray. 



SONGS ADRIFT 



From the silence of sorrowful hours 

The desolate mourners go, 
Lovingly laden with flowers 

Alike for the friend and the foe : 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment-day ; 
Under the roses, the Blue ; 
Under the lilies, the Gray. 

So with an equal splendor 

The morning sun-rays fall, 
With a touch impartially tender, 

On the blossoms blooming for all: 
Under the sod and the dew, 
Waiting the judgment-day ; 
■ Broidered with gold, the Blue ; 

Mellowed with gold, the Gray. 

So when the Summer calleth, 

On forest and field of grain, 
With an equal murmur falleth 
The cooling drip of the rain : 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment-day ; 
Wet with the rain, the Blue ; 
Wet with the rain, the Gray. 



SONGS ADRIFT 



Sadly, but not with upbraiding, 

The generous deed was done ; 
In the storms of the years that are fading 
No braver battle was won : 

Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment-day ; 
Under the blossoms, the Blue ; 
Under the garlands, the Gray, 

No more shall the war-cry sever, 

Or the winding rivers be red ; 
The}' banish our anger forever 

When they laurel the graves of our dead ! 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment-day ; 
Love and tears for the Blue ; 
Tears and love for the Gray. 



**§,- 




SONGS ADRIFT 




HO shall judge a man from manners ? 

Who shall know him by his dress? 
Paupers may be fit for princes, 

Princes fit for something less. 
Crumpled shirt and dirty jacket 

May beclothe the golden ore 
Of the humblest thoughts and feelings — 

Satin vests would do no more. 



There are springs of crystal nectar 

Ever welling out of stone ; 
There are purple buds and golden, 

Hidden, crushed and overthrown ; 
God who counts by souls, not dresses, 

Loves and prospers you and me, 
While he values thrones the highest, 

But as pebbles in the sea. 




Man, upraised above his fellows, 

Oft forgets his fellows then ; 
Masters, rulers, lords, remember 

That your meanest hands are men — 
Men by labor, men by feeling, 

Men by thought, and men by fame, 
Claiming equal rights to sunshine, 

In man's ennobling name. 

There are foam-embroidered oceans, 

There are little reed-clad rills, 
There are feeble, inch-high saplings, 

There are cedars on the hills ; 
God, who counts by souls, not stations, 

Loves and prospers you and me ; 
For to him, all vain distinctions 

Are as pebbles in the sea. 

Toiling hands alone are builders 

Of a nation's wealth or fame; 
Titled laziness is pensioned, 

Fed and fattened on the same ; 
By the sweat of others' foreheads, 

Living only to rejoice, 
While the poor man's outraged freedom 

Vainly lifteth up its voice. 



SONGS ADRIFT 



Truth and justice are eternal, 

Born with loveliness and light. 

Secret wrongs shall never prosper, 
While there is a sunny right ; 

God, whose world-heard voice is singing- 
Boundless love to you and me, 

Sinks oppression with its titles, 
As the pebbles of the sea. 




SONGS ADRIFT 



QUESTIONS OF THE MOV'R 

[Marian, Six Years Old] 

angels wear white dresses, say, 

Always, or only in the summer? Do 
Their birthdays have to come like mine, in May J 
Do they have scarlet sashes then, or blue? 

" When little Jessie died last night, 

How could she walk to heaven— it is so far? 

How did she find the way without a light? 
There wasn't even any moon or star. 

" Will she have red or golden wings? 

Then will she have to be a bird, and fly? 
Do they take men like presidents and kings 

In hearses with black plumes clear to the sky ? 




" How old is God ? Has he gray hair? 

Can he see yet? Where did he have to stay 
Before— you know— he had made— Anywhere? 

Who does He pray to— when he has to pray ? 



SONGS ADRIFT 



"How many drops are in the sea? 

How many stars?— well, then, you ought to know 
How many flowers are on an apple-tree? 

How does the wind look when it doesn't blow ? 

" Where does the rainbow end ? And why 

Did— Captain KMd— bury the gold there ? When 

Will this world burn ? And will the firemen try 
To put the fire out with the engines then ? 

" If you should ever die, may we 

Have pumpkins growing in the garden, so 

My fairy godmother can come for me, 

When there's a prince's ball, and let me go? 

" Read Cinderella just once more 

What makes— men's other wives— so mean ? " I kno\ 
That I was tired, it may be cross, before 

I shut the painted book for her to go. 

Hours later, from a child's white bed 

I heard the timid, last queer question start : — 

" Mamma, are you — my stepmother ? " it said. 
The innocent reproof crept to my heart. 



10NGS A DEI FT 



pz^yxm :rx ■C'OUHTiM 




ET'S play at courting, little wife — 

Forget these boys and girls, 
Ignore the wrinkles on our brows, 
The gray hairs 'mid our curls. 

" Me, John, across the field you see, 
With Sunday-suit bedight ; 

You at the glass push back your hair, 
And smooth your apron white. 

" You hum above your work, while loud 
And quick your heart beats on ; 

And yet unconscious look, as if 
There never was a John. 

" Well, I am there : I dare not kiss 

The little hand I touch ; 
It seems, just sitting by your side, 

Almost one joy too much. 



= 



SONGS ADRIFT 23 



" And, as your shining needles move, 

'Tis bliss enough, to see 
The downcast lashes sometimes lift, 

To steal a glance at me. 

" The neighbors shy look in sometimes — 

I do not call them here ; 
I'd rather not, to tell the truth, 

Have anybody near. 

" The old folks bid a pleased good-night, 

And leave us two together— 
To think, and blush, and nothing say, 

Except, "Tis pleasant weather.' 

"But some way, by-and-by (how is't ? 

. I never could define.) 
My hand gets snuggling round your waist, 
And yours get clasped in mine. 

" And some way, stranger still, your cheek 

Comes very near my own ; 
For thus I bend my head, to hear 

That bashful, whispering tone— 

" And then "—wife nudged me— Close behind, 

Eyes opened wide to see, 
Our eldest stood — she's just the age 

Her mother married me. 



SONGS ADRIFT 



mn %I#-G IJS r VIS IB^^VXY 



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H ! to be over yonder, 

In that land of wonder, 
Where the angel voices mingle and the angel 
harpers ring, 
To be free from pain and sorrow, 
And the anxious dread to-morrow, 
To rest in light and sunshine in the presence of 
the King. 




Oh ! to be over yonder ! 

My yearning heart grows fonder 
Of looking to the east, to see the day-star bring 

Some tidings of the waking, 

The cloudless, pure day breaking. 
My heart is yearning— yearning for the coming of the King. 



SONGS ADEIFT 



Oh ! to be over yonder, 

Alas ! I sigh and wonder, 
Why clings my poor weak heart to any earthly thing ? 

Each tie of earth must sever, 

And pass away forever ; 
But there's no more separation in the presence of the King. 

Oh ! to be over yonder, 

The longing groweth stronger ; 
When I see the wild doves cleave the air on rapid wing, 

I long for their fleet pinions, 

To reach my Lord's dominions, 
And rest my weary spirit in the presence of the King. 

Oh ! to be over yonder, 

In that land of wonder, 
Where life, and light, and sunshine, beam fair on everything : 

Where the day-beam is unshaded, 

As pure as He who made it, — 
The land of cloudless sunshine, where Jesus is the King. 

Oh ! when shall I be dwelling 

Where the angel voices SAvelling 
In triumphant hallelujahs, make the vaulted heavens ring ; 

Where the pearly gates are gleaming, 

And the morning star is beaming ; 
Oh ! when shall I be yonder in the presence ofthe King ? 



SONGS ADRIFT 



Oh ! when shall I be yonder ? 

The longing groweth stronger 
To join in all the praises the redeemed ones do sing, 

Within these heavenly places, 

Where the angels veil their faces, 
In awe and adoration in the presence of the King. 

Oh ! soon, soon I'll be yonder, 

All lonely as I wander ; 
Yearning for the welcome summer— longing for the Lord's fleet wing. 

The midnight may be dreary, 

And the heart be worn and weary, 
But there's no more shadow yonder in the presence of the King. 




SONGS ADRIFT 



27 




S$PTjEM£JE% 



WEET is the voice that calls 

From babbling water-falls, 
In meadows where the downy seeds are flying 

And soft the breezes blow, 

And eddying come and go, 
In faded gardens where the rose is dying. 

Among the stubbled corn 

The blithe quail pipes at morn, 
The merry partridge drums in hidden places, 

And glittering insects gleam 

Above the reedy stream 
Where busy spiders spin their filmy laces. 



At eve cool shadows fall 

Across the garden wall, 
And on the clustered grapes to purple turning ; 

And pearly vapors lie 

Along the eastern sky 
Where the broad harvest-moon is redly burning 



28 SONGS ADRIFT 



Ah, soon on field and hill 

The winds shall whistle chill, 
And patriarch swallows call their flocks together 

To fly from frost and snow, 

And seek for lands where blow 
The fairer blossoms of a balmier weather. 

The pollen-dusted bees 

Search for the honey-lees 
That linger in the last flowers of September ; 

While plaintive, mourning doves 

Coo sadly to their loves 
Of the dead summer they so well remember. 

The cricket chirps all day, 

" 0, fairest summer, stay ! " 
The squirrel eyes askance the chestnuts browning 

The wild-fowl fly afar 

Above the foamy bar, 
And hasten southward ere the skies are frowning. 

Now comes a fragrant breeze 

Through the dark cedar trees, 
And round about my temples fondly lingers 

In gentle playfulness, 

Like to the soft caress 
Bestowed in happier days by loving fingers. 



SONGS ADEIFT 



Yet, though a sense of grief 

Conies with the falling leaf, 
And memory makes the summer doubly pleasant, 

In all my autumn dreams 

A future summer gleams, 
Passing the fairest glories of the present ! 




SONGS ADRIFT 




^^^£) 

F all the bonny buds that blow 
In bright or cloudy weather, 

Of all the flowers that come and go 
The whole twelve moons together, 

This little purple pansy brings 

Thoughts of the sweetest, saddest things. 

I had a little lover once, 

Who used to give me posies : 

His eyes were blue as hyacinths, 
His lips as red as roses, 

And everybody loved to praise 

His pretty looks and winsome ways. 



The girls that went to school with me 
Made little jealous speeches, 

Because he brought me royally 
His biggest plums and peaches, 

And always at the door would wait 

To carry home my books and slate. 



SONGS ADRIFT 



"They couldn't see"— with pout and flin< 

" The mighty fascination 
About that Jittle snub-nosed thing 

To win such admiration ; 
As if there weren't a dozen girls 
With nicer eyes and longer curls ! " 

And this I knew as well as they, 
And never could see clearly 

Why more than Marion or May 
I should be loved so dearly. 

So once I asked him, why was this ? 

He only answered with a kiss. 

Until I teased him— 1 ' Tell me why— 
T want to know the reason ; " 

When from the garden-bed close by, 
(The pansies were in season) 

He plucked and gave a flower to me, 

With sweet and simple gravity. 

" The garden is in bloom," be said, 
" With lilies pale and slender, 

With roses and verbenas red, 

And fuchias' purple splendor ; 

But over and above the rest, 

This little heartsease suits me best." 



SONGS ADRIFT 



" Am I your little heartsease, then ? " 
I asked with blushing pleasure: 
He answered yes ! and yes again — 

Heartsease, and dearest treasure ; 
That the round world and all the sea 
Held nothing half so sweet as me ! 

I listened with a proud delight 

Too rare for words to capture, 
Nor ever dreamed what sudden blight 

Would come to chill my rapture, 
Could I forsee the tender bloom 
Of pansies round a little tomb. 

Life holds some stern experience, 

As most of us discover, 
And I've had other losses since 

I lost my little lover ; 
But still this purple pansy brings 

Thoughts of the saddest, sweetest things, 




SONGS ADEIFT 




VHIFIIX-G. 



Y soul to-day 

Is far away, 
Sailing the Vesuvian Bay ; 
^^ My winged boat, 

A bird afloat, 
Swims round the purple peaks remote. 



Round purple peaks 

It sails, and seeks 
Blue inlets in their crystal creeks, 

Where high rocks throw 

Through deeps below 
A duplicated golden glow. 



Far, vague, and dim, 
The mountains swim ; 

While on Vesuvius' misty rim, 

With outstretched hands, 
The grey smoke stands, 

O'erlooking the volcanic lands. 



5* 



Here Isckia smiles 

O'er liquid miles ; 
And yonder, bluest of the isles, 

Calm Capri waits, 

Her sapphire gates, 
Beguiling to her bright estates. . 

I heed not, if 

My rippling skiff 
Floats swift or slow from cliff to cliff ; 

With dreamful eyes 

My spirit lies 
Under the walls of Paradise. 

Under the walls, 

Where swells and falls 
The Bay's deep breast at intervals, 

At peace I lie 

Blown softly by, 
A cloud upon this liquid sky. 

The day so mild, 

Is Heaven's own child, 
With Earth and Ocean reconciled ; 

The airs I feel 

Around me steal 
Are murmuring to the murmuring keel. 



SONGS ADRIFT 35 



Over the rail 

My hand. I trail 
Within the shadow of the sail, 

A joy intense, 

A cooling sense 
Glides down my drowsy indolence. 

With dreamful eyes 

My spirit lies 
Where summer sings and never dies, 

O'erveiled with vines, 

She glows and shines 
Among her future oil and wines. 

Her children hid 

The cliffs amid, 
Are gamboling with the gamboling kid, 

Or down the walls 

With tipsy calls, 
Laugh on the rocks like waterfalls. 

The fisher's child, 

With tresses wild, 
Unto the smooth, white sands beguiled, 

With glowing lips 

Sings as she skips, 
Or gazes at the far-off ships. 



Yon deep barque goes 

Where traffic blows 
From lands of sun to lands of snows : 

This happier one 

Its course is run 
From lands of snow to lands of sun. 

Oh, happy ship, 
To rise and dip, 

With the blue crystal at your lip ! 

Oh, happy crew, 

My heart with you 
Sails and sails, and sings anew ! 

No more, no more, 

The worldly shore 
Upbraids me with its wild uproar ! 

With dreamful eyes 

My spirit lies 
Under the walls of Paradise ! 




SONGS ADRIFT 



37 



A Tail op Long Ago. 



ITH a biscuit in my pocket and a hammer in 
my hand, 

Chipping bits from off the strata that were 
" cropping " o'er the land, 

Wearied out, at length I rested by a fracture 
fresh and new, 

And gazed in languid humor at the thing it 
brought to view ; 

I had found an ancient casket that Agassiz 

e'en would hail, 
When he saw beneath its cover that a ganoid 
curled his tail. 

It was lying half imbedded in its matrix in the stone, 

And scintillating round it, bright micaceous fragments shone ; 

And I thought of all the weary, sad, and slow-revolving years 

Since the earth commenced her circling search for light among the 

spheres, 
And the huge ichthyosaurus must have felt his courage fail 
In the turbulence around him when this ganoid curled his tail. 




SONGS ADRIFT 



When from out the turbid ocean seethed an atmosphere of steam, 
And the waves refused in darkness to reflect a single beam, 
And barren rocks, that dimly rose, like spectres, from the waste, 
Glared grimly for a little while, and disappeared in haste ; 
Melted down with heat and horror— even gneiss could not prevail 
In those liquidating eras when this ganoid curled his tail. 

Check the onward march of Nature, and reverse the wheels of Time, 
From the morn when Eden blossomed in its freshness and its prime ; 
Roll it backward, roll it backward— backward still, and backward more 
Through cycles till the effort strains the mind till it is sore, 
Still a nebula beyond you, down within the Past's dim vale, 
Are those years unchronologic when this ganoid curled his tail. 

And I thought of all the struggles that we make with such ado 

To preserve our names from sinking for a century or two ; 

How the deeds of warrior, poet, stern philosopher or sage, 

Are writ in brilliant letters on the Past's historic page ; 

And yet the years the best have won are but a fabric frail 

By the grand unnumbered eras when this ganoid curled his tail. 

You're satisfied with glory, and you think the thing is done — 

If you perish in the conflict— when a marble bust is won. , 

Here's a rival — look upon him — he is not a carved ideal, 

For a lime infusion keeps him still original and real. 

The antiseptic properties of Fame would prove but frail 

Had you done your deeds of wonder when this ganoid curled his tail. 



SONGS ADRIFT 



Perhaps in scaly armor, up and down those ancient seas, 
Roamed he, with a restless appetite that nothing could appease, 
Crushing shoals and hosts of beings, every one of which that ran 
Would, in course of time and season, have "developed" up to man 
But "Fata sic Profulgent," and we only may bewail 
Our dear relations slaughtered when this ganoid curled his tail. 

But it is a sad reflection— sad and stern enough for tears. 
To know that blood and carnage trail along the track of years ; 
That Love, and Peace, and Mercy had not even then began 
To sow the seeds of quiet for the future coming man, 
And the cries of God's first creatures were a universal wail, 
Of fierce and brutal conflict when this ganoid curled his tail. 




SONGS ADRIFT 



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dreary place would be this earth 
"Were there no little people in it ; 

The song of life would lose its mirth, 
"Were there no children to begin it. 

No little forms like buds to grow, 

And make the admiring heart surrender ; 
No little hands on breast and brow, 

To keep the thrilling love-chords tender. 



No babe within our arms to leap, 

No little feet toward slumber tending ; 

No little knee in prayer to bend, 

Our lips to theirs the sweet words lending 



"What would the ladies do for work, 

Were there no pants or jackets tearing; 

No tiny dresses to embroider ; 

No cradle for their watchful caring ? 



SONGS ADRIFT 



No rosy boys at wintry-morn, 

With satchel to the school-house hasting : 
No merry shouts as home they rush ; 

No precious morsel for their tasting. 

Tall, grave, grown people at the door, 

Tall, grave, grown people at the table ; 

The men on business all intent, 

The dames lugubrious as they're able. 

The sterner souls would get more stern, 
Unfeeling natures more inhuman.; 

And men to stoic coldness turn, 

And woman would be less than woman. 

Life's song indeed would lose its charm, 
Were there no babies to begin it ; 

A doleful place this world would be, 
Were there no little people in it. 




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SONGS ADRIFT 





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know not what will befall me ! God hangs a mist o'er 

my eyes ; 
And o'er each step of my onward path he makes new 

scenes to rise ; 
And every joy he sends me comes as a sweet and glad 
'fH {/ surprise. 

(p ) \ I see not a step before me as I tread the days of the 
year; 
But the Past is still in God's keeping; the Future 

his mercy shall clear ; 
And what looks dark in the distance may brighten 
as I draw near. 



For perhaps the dreaded Future has less bitterness than I think 
The Lord may sweeten the water before I stoop to drink ; 
Or, if Marah must be Marah, he will stand beside its brink. 



SONGS ADRIFT 43 



It may be there is waiting for the corning of my feet, 

Some gift of such rare blessedness, some joy so strangely sweet, . 

That my lips can only tremble with the thanks I cannot speak. • 

restful, blissful Ignorance ! 'Tis blessed not to know ! 
It keeps me quiet in those arms which will not let me go, 
And hushes my soul to rest on the bosom which loves me so. . 

So I go on, not knowing ! I would not if I might ; 

1 would rather walk in the dark with God, than go alone in the light ; 
I would rather walk with him by faith than walk alone by sight. 

My heart shrinks back from trials which the Future may disclose, 

Yet, I never had a sorrow but what the dear Lord chose ; 

So I send the coming tears back with the whispered words, " He knows. 




SONGS ADRIFT 







HERE was once a nest in a hollow- 
Down in the mosses and knot-grass pressed- 

Soft and warm, and full to the brim ; 

Vetches leaned over it, purple and dim, 
With butter-cup buds to follow. 

I pray you, hear my song of a nest, 

For it is not long ; 
You shall never light in a sunnier quest 

The bushes among— 
Shall never light on a prouder sitter— 

A fairer nestful — nor ever know 

A softer sound than their tender twitter, 

That, wind-like, did come and go. 



I had a nestful, once, of my own— 

Ah ! happy, happy I ! 
Right dearly I loved them ; but when they were grown, 

They spread out their wings to fly. 



SONGS ADRIFT 



! one after one they flew away, 

Far up in the heavenly blue- 
To the better country, the upper day, 
And— I wish I was going, too ! 

1 pray you, what is the nest to me— 

My empty nest ? 
And what is the shore where I stood to see 

' My boat sail down to the West ? 
Can I call that home where I anchor yet, 

Though my good man has sailed ? 
Can I call that home where my nest was set, 
Now all its hopes have failed ? 

Nay ! but the port where my sailor went, 
And the land where my nestlings be — 

There is the home where my thoughts are sent- 
The only home for me. 




SONGS ADRIFT 



Xeaves tljat are Fairest, 



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EAVES that are fairest 

Soonest decay, 
Loved ones the rarest 

Soon pass away ; 
Smiles that are brightest 

Soonest grow cold, 
Tales that are lightest 

Soonest are told. 



But the leaf and the tale give us joy while they last, 
And the smile of a friend makes a joy of the past; 
For memory preserves in its tender embrace 
The sunbeams of life as they flashed on his face. 




Fortunes the proudest 
Fly with the years, 

Laughter the loudest 
Softens to tears. 



SONGS ADRIFT 47 



Joys the completest 

Last but an hour, 
Perfumes the sweetest 

Die with the flower. 

But why should we sigh for the joys that have fled, 
Or mourn the fond hopes that are lost with the dead ? 
Fresh hopes and new joys coming seasons will bring, 
As perfumes will return with the roses of Spring. 




SONGS ADRIFT 




•GO-09-2X 



OD be with you ! through my losing 

And my grieving, shall I say? 
Through my smiling and my hoping- 
God be with you, friends, to-day ! 

Somewhere, on a shore of silver, 
(God be with you on the way !) 

In a sunlight sifted richly 

From a thousand skies of May. 



In the meanings of the sunrise, 
In the soul of summer raiu, 

In the heart of purple hazes, 

We will not say Good-by again. 



But the tears dash through my dreaming, 
And the thing I fain would say, 

Falters into this— this only ; 

God be with you till that day! 



SONGS ADRIFT 



49 




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OW strange it will be, love, how strange, when we 
two 
Shall be what all lovers become, 
You, frigid and faithless, I cold and untrue, 
You thoughtless of me, and I careless of you, 
Our pet names grown rusty with nothing to do, 
Love's bright web unravelled, and rent, and worn 
through, 
And life's loom left empty— ah, hum ! 
Ah, me, 
How strange it will be ! 



How strange it will be when the witchery goes, 

Which makes me seem lovely to-day ; 
When your thought of me loses its couleur de rose, 
When every day serves some new fault to disclose, 
When you find I've cold eyes and an every day nose, 
And wonder you could for a moment suppose 
I was out of the commonplace way ; 
Ah, me, 
How strange it will be. 



50 SONGS ADRIFT. 



How strange it will be, love — how strange when we meet, 

With just a chill touch of the hand ! 
When my pulses no longer delightedly beat 
At the thought of your coming, the sound of your feet, 
When I watch not your going, far down the long street, 
When your dear, loving voice, now so thrillingly sweet, 
Grows harsh in reproach or command ; 
Ah, me, 
How strange it will be. 

How strange it will be when we willingly stay 

Divided the weary day through ! 
Or, getting remotely apart as we may, 
Sit chilly and silent, with nothing to say, 
Or cooly converse on the news of the day 
In a wearisome, old married folks sort of way ! 
I shrink from the picture ; don't you ? 
Ah, me, 
How strange it will be ! 

Dear love, if our hearts do grow torpid and old, 

As so many others have done ; 
If we let our love perish with hunger and cold, 
If we dim all life's diamonds and tarnish its gold, 
If we choose to live wretched and die unconsoled, 
'Twill be strangest of all things that ever were told 
As happening under the sun ! 
Ah, me, 
How strange it will be ! 



SONGS ADRIFT 



"One of the Sweet 'Old "Chapters 

NE of the sweet okl chapters, 

After a day like this ; 
The clay brought tears and trouble, 

The evening brings no kiss. 



No rest in the arms I long for— 
Rest and refuge and home ; 

Grieved, and lonely, and weary, 
Unto the Book J come. 

One of the sweet old chapters, 

The love that blossoms through 

His care of the birds and lilies, 
Out in the meadow dew. 




His evening lies soft around them ; 

Their faith is simply to be. 
O, hushed by the tender lesson, 

My God, let me rest in thee ! 



C. A. Mecaskey 



W. H. Sheafer 



H. C. Sheafer 



C. A. MECASKEY & CO. 

Goldsmiths and Manufacturing Jewelers, 

No. 908 Chestnut Street, 

(SECOND FLOOR) 
PHILADELPHIA. 

AEE NOW OFFERING ELEGANT 




HOLIDAY GOODS 

OF THEIR OWN MAKE, 

Q^-A T R E T A I L^^ 

As we manufacture our own goods, we are able to dispense with 
the profits of the Jobber and the Retailer, and thus sell at prices 
lower than good work can be procured anywhere else in the City. 
Our stock of Chains of all kinds, Ladies Sets, Rings, Bracelets, Lockets, 
Watches, Pins, Diamond Work, and every description of Fine Jewelry, 
is large and in the latest style. 

C^ORDER WORK A SPECIALTYv^r? 



*rsu kin 

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I&rinter ^| Stationer, 



8O8 Chestnut Street, 

S^k Philadelphia. ^i/ 



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